


Quoting These Words: One-Shot Collection

by Hobbit_Pandemonium



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ...but just go with it, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cutting, Depression, Drug Addiction, Gen, Heavy Angst, I am horrible at writing summeries, I am just rolling with this, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Why Did I Write This?, did I cover everything?, inspired by quotes, just plain all around angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6436840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbit_Pandemonium/pseuds/Hobbit_Pandemonium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of one shots that are mostly centered around Fíli and his angsty life inspired by a series of quotes concerning/about depression. If it is out there it will be here. And if anyone has a request of a quote the would like made into a chapter just say the word and I will fit it in. So if you are feeling down and want to read something that matches your mood here it is. The only warning I will give you is that this work maybe/will have triggers for you if you have experienced any of the things written about.</p><p>Chapter One: Don't leave me alone with my thoughts... They're dangerous.<br/>- Fíli is left home alone, and his resolve is already weak, but being alone with only the thoughts in his head for company has only made things worse. Is it any surprise that he would have fallen back to do this? He thinks not. His only thought is.. finally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quoting These Words: One-Shot Collection

Why did he insist on staying home alone while his Uncle was on a business trip and his mother was off visiting relatives and his younger brother staying at a friends house again? Better yet why did they leave him alone? Hadn't they noticed that he wasn't as okay as he said he was? How did they miss him zoning out and staring off into nothingness for hours at a time? Surely his family would have noticed that something was off with him, right? 

Then again, maybe he has just gotten too good over the years at hiding behind his mask of a fake smile and even faker happy eyes for them to tell the difference of when he was fine and having a good day and the days where he felt as if that day was going to be his last. Had he really convinced them so much that they hadn't noticed anything amiss? Apparently he had or otherwise they would all still be here hovering over him in a stifling pile, possibly admitting him into a hospital because even when he himself was in denial that something was indeed wrong with him he knew that on some level he was sick. 

Perhaps too sick to heal. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

They were gone though and there was nothing he could do about it. After all he was a responsible adult, wasn't he? He could take care of himself for five days, right? He could resist the voices in his head telling him that giving into the temptation of cutting again would help dull the pain he felt at their abandonment, couldn't he? Considering before they had left he had at least been able to function enough to hold up his mask and pretend that he had the strength to get out of bed in the morning and make himself eat something he thought that yes maybe he could. 

But seeing as the voices returned even louder and more persistent not even an hour after they left he might have to reevaluate that assumption before he did something stupid. Stupid like make the voices go away with the hidden drugs in the shoe box under his bedroom floor boards or taking out his razor blades again from their place in the hallow book on the top of his bookcase. He has been clean from both of those things for five months now and he just had a sinking feeling that those five months of being clean were about to be broken in under five days. 

Mahal! He was so weak. He couldn't even stop himself from thinking about the high the drugs and razor blade would give him should he give up and give in. He was a stupid, weak, useless, worthless idiot. No wonder his family ignored him. Why would anyone want a brother or a nephew or a son like him? He shouldn't even be alive right now, he should be dead! But no, his past history of trying to kick the figurative bucket had already proven that it wasn't his time to leave the land of the living yet. 

Damn and double damn fate. 

Couldn't it understand that he didn't want to hear the voices anymore? Couldn't it understand that he was just soo tired of feeling numb and feeling too much already? Why wouldn't it let him die already?! He has tried to kill himself three times already and failed each time. Someone or something always got in the way and ruined everything. It was something the voices in his head wouldn't let him forget. He had been too weak to resist his pleading brother and to take that final step that would have flung him off a bridge and plummeting to his death he had even been to weak to cut deep enough and take enough drugs and sleeping pills to do himself in. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

He was a failure. 

Why was he even still alive? Why hasn't he already done what the voices in his head tell him to do yet? Oh right, Kíli. His brother was the reason he hasn't left already. It was always him and he hated it. He hated that it was an awkward, dark haired, lanky fourteen year old that was keeping him from doing what he wanted, no, needed to do. Why did he have to care about his younger brother so much that each time he got ready to finally end it all he drew back just enough to stop himself from cutting to deep or taking enough drugs to do anything more than making him pass out for a couple hours? 

Then again, why hadn't he confessed everything to the one person who was truly keeping him here and stopping him from killing himself or doing something stupid? He knew the answer to that; he did want to burden his cheerful care-free brother with his problems. He didn't want to taint his kid brother with his own inky darkness. Kíli didn't deserve that and neither did his Uncle or Mother. They all served to be happy even if he didn't stand a chance to be so himself. 

Why would he deserve to be happy when he was such a mess up? The answer? He didn't. He should just do what the voices in his head want him to do. He should just grab a knife from the kitchen and get it done and over with. He can hear himself laughing hysterically both in his head and out but he can't stop himself, he is already too far gone, has been for a long while now. 

Why did they have to leave him alone in a silent house with only his black thoughts for company? Didn't they know how dangerous for him it is that they have? Of course not, how could they when they haven't even noticed that something was wrong with him to begin with? He is a fool, a stupid idiotic fool that doesn't even deserve to have them help him. He isn't worthy of their blindly trusting love for him, isn't worthy of the almost hero worship Kíli looks up at him with or the pride he sees in his Uncle's eyes when he says something he apparently deems wise beyond his age, and he definitely doesn't isn't worthy of the love and affection his mother holds for him.

. . . . . . . . . . .

He can already feel himself getting ready to do something stupid. Can feel the shields he normally keeps strong in his mind to block most of his darker thoughts crumbling at their bases. And before he knows it he is grabbing the hallowed out book from where it had been hidden from view by other books on the top shelf of his bookcase and with shaking hands grabbing three of his large collection of razors out of it before putting it back and making his way to the bathroom that joins his bedroom and Kíli's making sure to lock both doors even though he knows that Kíli won't be back home for another four days. 

None of them will. 

He had known that this was going to happen again. That he was going to fail in his resolve and give up, give in and be a failure again. Why didn't he stop them from going? Why couldn't he have asked to go with one of them? Sure, Kíli wouldn't have wanted him to come to his friends house because he think that his older brother would embarrass him. And going with his mother was sure to have been boring as hell. But his Uncle would have jumped at the chance that his oldest nephew was finally showing interest in the family business even if he truly was just asking so he would be left home by himself all alone except for the horrid voices inside his head. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

He was so stupid! 

He should have said something, confessed or went to his own friends houses, anything! But no, he hadn't, he didn't even look at any of his family when they left. Instead he had stayed in his room lying on his bed staring up at his ceiling with his music playing as loud as he could make it go and not have his mother or Uncle come complain about it and tell him to turn it down, or worse, off completely. Sometimes loud music was the only thing that muted the voices. Then again sometimes even that didn't work. Sometimes no matter how far up he turned the volume the voices were still louder than the outside noise. 

He hated it. Hated that he couldn't make them shut up by himself without help from someone or something else completely distracting him or blaring his music until his ears hurt. Maybe he should stop them altogether. Maybe it was too late to just attempt to tone them down. Maybe he needed to drown them out completely and make them to away so they would never come back again. Maybe it was finally time to make it so he wouldn't wake up again himself. 

Was it? He thought so. 

And the too deep cuts that were now staining his skin and the bathroom floor with his scarlet life blood seemed to morosely agree. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

He doesn't remember starting to cut his forearms let alone when he had sunk to the ground with his back curled up upon itself pressed flush against the door that led from the bathroom to Kíli's room. But he must have done it sometime. His thoughts were too scrambled up and his head and memory too blurry from rapid blood loss to recall just when he had done so clearly. 

It is just another thing he isn't strong enough to do. If he can't even remember doing something five minutes ago, how can he expect stop himself from doing something stupid? Oh yeah, that's right, he can't. Why was he soo dumb? Why couldn't he be better? Smarter? Be like the young man his family thought him to be, needs him to be? 

He is a disappointment. Weak. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

The burning trails of tears he can feel running down his cheeks to drip into the deep cuts on his arms seem to be a self testament of that thought. He is past care and worry now, he can't even find it in himself to wonder why the growing puddle of red around him isn't stemming like it usually does. Did he cut too deep? He must have. But he doesn't care because the voices are getting quieter. They are just a whisper now. But they are still dangerous. He needs absolute silence, he needs to think, focus. Needs to make them do away completely. 

But how? Isn't this enough? They are mostly gone anyway. But no, he knows that he needs to snuffle them out until there is nothing left of them at all, so they have no way of ever coming back to haunt him. And he knows just how to accomplish this. All it will take is a few more deep cuts, just a couple more. Three at the least. Easy right? They just need to be even deeper than the ones he has already made. They need to go to the bone, right below the crease of his wrists where he can see the blue of his veins the clearest and then another cut all the way down his forearm, just as a precaution. Just to make sure that they have no way of coming back. That he will have no way of waking back up. 

He can do this right? Even with his hands and fingers shaking beyond his control and his arms spasming in agony from the cuts they have already contained? Maybe. He has no choice, he has to. He has to make absolutely sure that it will all be over. So he does. He makes two deep crosses on his arms barely managing to put enough pressure down on his largest razor blade to make sure the cut goes all the way to the bone before he feels his arms go limp and numb with one last jerking twitch. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

His vision is fading out, going black around the edges and he wonders if this is the end, before thinking to himself that that is a stupid thought, of course this is the end. Hasn't he done his best to make sure it is this time? He is completely sprawled on his back now, his shirt sticking to his skin at some time having gained an uncomfortable wet feeling along his back from it soaking up his blood and his hair is no better off, he can feel it matted together, some dried and some still wet and all of it stained with red. 

Is he supposed to have bled this much? Is there really so much blood in a human body that it is enough to have painted nearly the entire bathroom floor in a thin puddle? Apparently there is because he can somehow still feel even more blood trickling out of him, much slower than before but still exiting through the cuts all the same. He has a brief moment of wondering if he had just made a mistake by doing this. But then a faint thought makes its way across his mind and it somehow makes everything seem alright. 

'I was left alone with only my thoughts for company for too long, left alone with dangerous thoughts, and I have finally found a way to end them.'

. . . . . . . . . . .

It is funny. He can feel himself fading, his life ending and yet all he can think about is what a bitch it is going to be for Kíli to get the blood out of the carpet bordering his bedroom and the door that attaches his room to their shared bathroom. One would think that he would not be thinking about the carpet of ones kid brothers bedroom floor during your last moments but rather fear or regrets but he is and he finds the thought just soo right and soo him. 

If he had the strength to laugh he would have been, as it is his hearing has gone completely silent and his whole body is numb the agony from before dulled and faded away to a dull throb that repeated with every beat of his slowing hearts pulse along with every other sensory. And just as the last of the light is fading from his vision and his eyes are finally closing he feels a smile try to stretch across his face because the voices are finally gone and now he can finally be happy unlike as he was before. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

He could feel peace and blessed silence take over him and for that last moment he felt as if he were flying and running and just living for what seemed like the first time in what seemed forever. And he was glad that he hadn't said, "Don't leave me alone with my thoughts... They're dangerous", when his family left because he was finally left to silence with no voices telling him to end it all already or that he was unwanted and not worthy of what he had. If this feeling was what preceded him entering heaven or hell he couldn't wait for the whole feeling and he wasn't picky which way he went. 

After all it was all over now, he would soon see his father again, and he looked forward to an afterlife free of the dark thoughts his first life had been filled with. Even if he still had many many years to look forward to and wait for until his mother and Uncle and younger brother could join him he would be happy until then. This was the end and he was glad for it. Perhaps those thoughts hadn't been too bad after all. Maybe they had just been a way for some higher being to tell him that he was me at to die earlier than most. 

Then again, most likely, it was all the blood loss talking. But it didn't matter anymore because he was free with a smile on his face when he hadn't smiled in years. This and he was thinking of his brothers carpet! 

This is good he thinks, this is the end, my end. Dangerous my thoughts may have been but they were what finally gave me the courage to follow through.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be updating this collection with a new One-Shot Chapter biweekly. (Or maybe not it depends.) Why? Let's just say that just because I am home-schooled it doesn't mean that I don't have a shit ton of work to do for my last year of high-school. Anyway I hope I didn't depress you guys to much. Have great day, or night, or whatever time it is for you!


End file.
